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May 9, 2012     The Adams County Record
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May 9, 2012
 

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Page 14 Wednesday, May 9, 2012 The Adams County Record Cambridge Senior Chatter A Mother's Lesson I was recently reading a column in a blog called "Time Goes By." Ronni Bennett is proprietor of the website and one of its prolific writers. A few weeks ago she re-ran a blog she wrote in 2004, about caring for her mother at the end of her life. The blog was entitled ' mother's final lesson: I thought I would share her words with you in honor of all mother's past and present: A mother's final, best lesson: Part 11 When I left home at age 17 within a week of graduating from high school in 1958, it was unspoken but understood between Morn and me that the move was permanent, that returning home was not an option. Or at least, that's what I believed, and belief, warranted or not, is all that is necessary for some things to be so. I also believed then that Morn had nothing to teach me, certainly nothing about the big questions that bothered me in high school: Why don't the popular kids like me? How will I know when I'm in love? What do I do with my arms when a boy kisses me? Is there really a God? Where do we go when we die? Looking back now with the forbearance of age for youth, including one's own, it is obvious my belief in Mom's ignorance had no foundation. With the arrogance of teens immemorial, I had never bothered, before condemning her, to ask the questions. It was many years before I appreciated what Morn did teach me throughout the ten or so years of my childhood I can remember, and she did it decades before that guy wrote a book about what he learned in kindergarten: Walk on the right of the sidewalk. Watch where you are going. Hold the door for people to leave the shop before you enter. Don't complain; it is unseemly and no one else's business. Learn to roll with the punches, Sarah Heartburn. Modulate your voice to -your surroundings. Give your brother a chance to talk. Don't slam the door. I can hear her voice still in each of these lessons and many more like them. She taught them by repetition as my behavior dictated and their simplicity belies their power and their wider application. There was another lesson that today would horrify child experts and possibly get her reported to child welfare authorities. When I was three ,ears old during World War II, Mom sett me to nursery school. She walked mc the four blocks down the hill from ourhouse where she handed me over to the pus driver. He let me off at the school vhere the teacher waited. In the afternoon, the process was repeated in reverse except that instead of meeting the bus at the bottom of the hill, Mom watched for me from our living room window. I have no memory of this. When Mom told the story over the years, the punch line was about how she "chewed her fingernails'down to her elbows" wo.rrying until she saw my head bobbing up over the hill. There was no reason for her not to meet the bus in the afternoon, she said, except that "there are no certainties in life 7 Dad, who was fighting in The Philippines and New Guinea, might not survive the War. And because anything could happen to her too, at any time, it was important to teach me as much independence as possible as young as possible. It was the first big lesson she taught me. Fifty years later, she took on another one just as big, and who isto say now that it was not done with as much intention and design as the first. Caring for Morn during her final three months was the most profound and powerful experience of my life. It was a gift, a grace, a blessing I would wish upon everyone. Perhaps if I had been a mother, if I had raised children, I would already have known the pleasures of protecting and nurturing, of being needed and wanted. But I had not. So it was a surprise, while caring for Morn, to realize I was the happiest I had ever been. Not lighthearted or joyous and certainly not carefree, but fulfilled and complete, at one with myself. For the first and only time in my life, I was doing something that mattered. A friend said to me that he believes it is the last, great lesson a parent teaches a child: how to die. Mom left me with an exceptional standard to live up to when my time comes, and she did it with a courage and dignity that I, to my shame, had never given her credit for. She did not complain, but she was not passive either. Though she gave over make L lake her to di..er at lrlbe 8ewen Devil00 Care! Satm, flay, May 12th Prime [h'b Special Sunday, May 13th Chicken & Shrimp Or Chinese Special 12:00pro t"o Close 253-1177 [W00r00'8 PAY  any Tmmer or Blomr and 0el a 2.6 oz boule ol XP 2 Slmke Oil and a sel d PerFlex ear plugs free. POWER TOOLS & TOYS 1103 MOSER AVE, COUNCIL- (206) 253 - ! 11011 MONDAY - FRIDAY 9(30 - 6.'00 SATURi]gq, Y S::OO - 2=00 * NEW HOURS "* Yal Wmmmmtusma 2S3-0212 the household decision-making to me with never another word, she also never shied from making known what she wanted. She never apologized for, or even acknowledged, waking me three, four and more times a night. If she knew it took me five hours of driving around Sacramento to find the watermelon she requested one day in February; she seems to have considered it her due, and ignored my effort. Just as she seems to have ignored the full-time job I was doing while caring for her. For three months, she operated every day on the assumption that I would make her comfort my priority. And she was right. Until Morn asked me to go to Sacramento to be with her during her final days, I had led a Self-indulgent life. Oh, I supported myself, paid the bills, met my responsibilities and I don't remember asking for help for anything more important than fixing a broken lamp. Conversely, I did anything i wanted, came and went as I pleased, spent or saved money on little more than whim. By no means could I be considered well off, but life was relatively easy, and though I recognizedmy good fortun.e, I gave back little. Beyond contributions to charities, I had made hardly any effort to be of service through the years in any personal way. I was bothered by this from time to time, but not so much that I considered changing my life. I lived superficially and believed myself to be somewhat of a failure as a person, though not a bad person. by ]anice No on, me, I would for an iJ anyone, J But m] months of carin I imaginec Somet mother t neighboz more ghq hospice freely-o surrende It hel t of ener my bow successi new an to trust limits o: gave o kindheaI In tho: day toge most dec me how I had. S11 in myselJ In hen Morn ga, She taug I hope for you a day!